


in the business of souls

by aarobron



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Soul Selling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 16:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14500839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/aarobron
Summary: mild fantasy!auwhen robert sugden sells his soul, he doesn't see it as a problem. quite the opposite, in fact, because he doesn't intend to fall in love – but one chance meeting changes everything.or,"I can't fall in love with you," Robert says. He can't stop the sadness creeping into his voice, how pathetic it sounds. "I really, really like you, Aaron, but I can't fall in love with you."Something like realisation dawns on Aaron's face, and then it morphs into devastation. Robert wishes he didn't feel the same. "And that's why you couldn't-?"





	in the business of souls

**Author's Note:**

> hello! today i hand in my final university project, so let's celebrate with a fic! i've not written much like this before, so please be gentle with me.
> 
> title from [the (shipped) gold standard by fall out boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUtIlq3KxAU)
> 
> happy reading! xo

Robert Sugden sells his soul when he's twenty three.

It's not like he _needs_ it anyway. He has no intentions of succumbing to love, not at any point in his life. He has better things to do with his time, better ways he can use people.

_Love_ , some people think, is the be all and end all. Some people have the one and only goal of finding it. Some people struggle to keep it, and some people don't have the soul capacity to feel it, anyway. What's the point?

Besides, aged sixteen, Robert had decided that falling in love was too mundane for him anyway. If he didn't feel it for Katie (not even when - _because_ \- she was Andy's), he wouldn't feel it at all.

And so he'd planned to sell his soul long before Jack had kicked him to the curb. He'd planned to sell it long before he decided what he wanted in return, too.

Love is a fairytale, nothing but a common myth adults tell their kids as a bedtime story - it's like Santa or the tooth fairy, just a little more pathetic. 

And Robert is better off without.

.

He half expects lava floor and flames licking up the walls, a red-skinned man with a goat's tail and two perfectly pointed horns protruding from his skull.

That's how the saying goes, isn't it? Sold your soul to the devil.

What he actually finds is a little more disappointing.

It's a small grotty office, tucked away in the back streets of Hotten behind a dubious looking off-license and a Cash Convertors. The sign blinks at him, once every four seconds, until 'Home Farm Haulage' is burned into his retinas.

The f sits slightly lower than the rest of the letters, and the e is tilted towards the ground. The only reason the white-lit words stand out is because the building itself is grey with filth.

Robert isn't sure if this is serious.

_This_ is where the magic happens?

He climbs the stairs two at time, not wanting to spend any second longer than necessary in this shady place, and when he reaches the top, he stops.

This must be a joke.

A little old woman is sitting at the reception desk, a bright pink beret perched perfectly on top of her permed hair, and the _clickclickclick_ of her nails against the computer keyboard stops when she stares at him.

"Do you have an appointment?" She asks, pronouncing all of the syllables perfectly. She looks at him over the top of her glasses, too much scrutiny to be judging.

"Uh," He says, clearing his throat. "Yeah, for two o clock. Robert Sugden?"

She clicks around the computer for a second, frowning as she reads the screen, and then leans back. "Mr Sugden, yes!" She says, all too gleeful. "Take a seat, sir, Mr. King will be with you soon."

He looks over to the plastic seats with his nose turned up. They look just as grotty as the rest of the place, like they've been unbolted and lifted from the waiting room of Hotten's A&E department. Still, though. It's a step above sitting on the floor, so he perches on the edge of one and tries not to think about all the dirt on his expensive trousers.

The receptionist keeps glancing over at him curiously. She's way too old to be working here, Robert thinks - _and_ too nosey. Seriously, what kind of business are the Kings actually running?

"What are you getting in exchange?" The receptionist asks politely, but she's now focused all her attention on him. He's pretty sure that this third degree isn't part of the process.

God, whatever happened to client confidentiality?

When he doesn't reply - just matches her stare with two raised eyebrows and a pointed glance - she continues, "Maybe fame? Or how about the power over women?" She bursts out a laugh at her own words. "Although I can't see you having a problem with that! I bet it's something sinister-"

"Pearl!" A booming voice calls from a doorway that Robert hadn't even noticed opening. "Stop harassing our clients, please. That's my job."

His tone is dry enough to match his smile, and the receptionist - _Pearl_ \- doesn't seem to take any offence. Must be a common occurrence, then.

It doesn't fill Robert with much confidence.

The man, who Robert assumes is Mr King, turns his attention towards him. "Robert Sugden?" He asks, a lilt to his voice even as he retains the authority. Robert nods, and the man smiles, blinding. "Come right through."

So Robert does. He follows Mr King into the room (half of him is expecting walls of fire and seven circles, while the other half is expecting rising damp and a few bin bags littered about) but it's just... _normal_.

There's a solid oak desk pushed against one side of the room, littered with books and paperwork; a reclining chair that reminds Robert a little of the dentist, and a few machines with wires hanging out of them like tentacles.

He tries not to dwell on those too much.

"Now, Mr Sugden," The man starts, sitting at his desk. He gestures to the seat adjacent, and Robert sits. It's like a strange compliance, like he couldn't control it if he tried. Maybe this man _is_ the devil. "I must apologise for Pearl. She's just a little, well, old fashioned."

Robert nods and mumbles, "of course," but he's barely heard over the man continuing his speech. Robert decides immediately that he doesn't like him.

"My name is Carl - Carl King - and I'll be carrying out your procedure today," He says, rifling through the stacks of paper in front of him. "It is non-negotiable after you've signed the paperwork, but I'm sure you're aware of that."

Well, yeah, Robert's not thick. He's read and read reams of paperwork about it, read the small print twice over and then once again for good measure, because he's _not_ an idiot. He knows what he's getting into. "Of course," He says, clipped. 

Carl barely refrains from rolling his eyes as he scans Robert's file. "You want _business skills_?" He says, intrigue and sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Couldn't you just-?"

"Go to uni, yeah," Robert says, cutting the other man off. Carl looks like he doesn't appreciate it, but he keeps his mouth shut anyway. "But who has three years to waste on that?"

"If you say so," Carl says, a tight smile on his face. He pushes the paperwork to the edge of the desk and raises an eyebrow expectantly. "Now if you could sign here, here and here, and date it, we can begin."

Robert bites his lip, but it doesn't stop the words from blurting out. "Will it hurt?" He asks. He's seen the forums and the Wikipedia pages and it always says that it _doesn't_ , but Robert isn't sure if he believes it.

Carl King is Satan in a suit, isn't he? And the devil isn't afraid of spreading a little propaganda.

The man himself laughs, short and barking, and even when he stops himself, there's still a menacing smile on his face. "Of course not," He says, all too amused (probably at the thought of Robert in pain). "We'll knock you out, and you'll be under for a minute or so."

Robert isn't sure if he wants to know _what_ they're going to knock him out with, and he knows better than to ask. Besides, he's come too far now, so he just nods and sends a tight-lipped smile back and signs on all the dotted lines.

"Perfect!" Carl says gleefully. Robert can almost see the pound signs in his eyes (or, soul signs, really. But who knows what he does with them?) and he gestures over to the reclining chair. "Unbutton your shirt and prop yourself on the chair, and we can start the process."

This _process_ is still a mystery to Robert, but there's something firm in the tone of Carl's voice that makes him powerless to resist. Lucifer himself can do that, he supposes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt without his brain even telling his hands to do so. He sits on the chair and leans back, fingers curling tightly around the arm rests. 

He's not scared. Not one bit.

He keeps his eyes open (through sheer force alone) and watches Carl flit about the room in a way that's too... _mystical_ to be entirely human. He's starting to understand it all now. "So!" Carl says, clapping his hands together and snapping Robert out of his thoughts. He presses a button on one of the machines and it whirls to life, streams of numbers showing up on the screen and moving so fast they all blur together. "First, we attach these sensors." 

Carl picks up the two wires dangling down and peels the stickers off of the pads, frowning as he concentrates on placing them right into the centre of Robert's chest. He presses them with his thumbs, hard enough that the breath escapes out of Robert's lungs, but he seems satisfied when he pulls away.

"And now," He announces with a flourish, pressing more buttons on the machine. The numbers slow down and then go even faster, and it makes Robert's head spin. He doesn't know where to look, so he just stares at the ceiling and wishes it for just to be over and done with already. "We begin." The last thing Robert sees is Carl standing over him, grinning manically. 

And then.

it all.

goes.

**black**.

The thing is that he's still aware - brain capacity at 100% (or as close to it as Robert can actually get), heart beating painfully against his ribs. He's aware and he knows what's happening, but he can't _move_. There's a blackness behind his eyelids, sickening and heavy, like an all-consuming void. He wants to panic, feels the weight of it sitting on his lungs, but before he can open his mouth to scream-

He's gasping for air, sitting up on the chair. His shirt is still flapping open at his sides and the sensors are still stuck to his chest. Carl is still grinning at him, looking more like the devil than ever, and he doesn't feel any different.

"Did it work?" Robert gasps out, a step away from clawing at his throat. He's still breathless.

"Put it this way," Carl says, laughing - more like a cackle, really, and it spreads a terror right down to Robert's toes. "If it didn't work, you wouldn't be sitting up like that."

And Robert doesn't want to _know_. 

He falls back against the seat with a thump, closes his eyes, and counts to ten.

It's all over.

He doesn't have a soul anymore.

.

He starts working for the Whites almost three months later.

Lawrence, the director of the company, isn't exactly giving off any _straight_ vibes, and Robert snatches that opportunity with both hands and holds on as tight as he can.

Not that he _would_ anyway, but there's not exactly a risk of him falling in love, is there?

A well-placed smile here, and a short comment there. Couple that with his new found business skills, and it works like a dream, and he rises through White Industries quicker than he could ever imagine.

And then there's Chrissie: Chrissie, with her beautiful hair and shining eyes. She's sharp and witty, and she smiles at him. God, she smiles at him - wry and teasing, and Robert wants her.

Robert wants her, so he gets her.

Lawrence doesn't say anything. He can't, because he has some fucked up feelings for Robert and a desperate need to keep him around. It's pathetic, really, but it makes Robert's life a lot easier.

And so Chrissie loves him. She loves him and she loves him well, with holidays and gifts and weekend breaks. He almost wishes he could love her back.

But that's why it comes to an end.

She loves him, but he doesn't love her. He _can't_ and so he doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't need to bother trying to make her happy, because it's all her own little fucked up illusion anyway. He's never going to be who she wants him to be.

There are other women - and men. Nameless, faceless fucks that he doesn't think twice about past the mutual orgasms. It's just a release, but Chrissie doesn't see it that way.

She screams at him in Lawrence's office, somewhere between getting the sack and getting the few belongings he left at hers thrown at him.

So that is the end of that.

But it's not like it's hard to find another job. He is a business genius, after all.

.

Meeting Aaron is uneventful.

It's a Saturday night party, in someone's flat. He barely knows the girl, but there's free booze and decent music. There's bound to be plenty of one night stands available, too.

He ends up on the balcony with a cigarette. He's not even a smoker, not really, but he's had one too many and someone offered. Someone offered, but then they fucked off.

He ends up alone.

If he cared, he'd think about how being soulless isn't all it cracked up to be.

But then there's a slight raise in the volume of the music and chatter. The glass door sliding open and closed again, the gentle pat of footsteps.

The other person- the other person is _gorgeous_. Robert turns his head just to see, then stays looking. Dark hair, curling over his forehead. A trimmed beard and blue, baby blue eyes. 

Robert _wants_ , and what he wants he gets.

"Hi," he says, plastering on a smirk. It's not too smug but not too shy, the perfect mix resulting in _I want to fuck you_. He's had enough practice. "I'm Robert."

The man turns and drags his gaze up the length of Robert's body, but he must like what he sees, because he doesn't turn away. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Aaron," he says eventually. Even his voice sounds gorgeous. 

It all goes pretty standard from there: small talk, a laugh from Aaron, and Robert stepping closer. Tension, so much tension, and it makes Robert feel light headed.

He steps closer, and captures Aaron's mouth with his own.

He tastes like beer and smoke, and underneath it all something unique that Robert can't quite place. He loves it, though: it just seems to drive him even wilder, makes him grab Aaron's hips and pull him closer.

"Your place or mine?" Aaron asks breathlessly, head falling backwards as Robert sucks wet kisses onto his neck. His fingers tangle in the older man's hair, and _god_ , Robert hasn't felt like this in so long.

"I literally live upstairs," Robert says, pulling himself away from Aaron's body for one painful minute. He looks at the confident smirk glinting in Aaron's eyes, at his kiss bitten red lips and his flushed cheeks. 

He doesn't want to wait any longer.

He pulls Aaron by the hand through the party, and there's probably people commenting on it, but he can't see them. It's like a spotlight on the other man, highlighting his smile.

But nobody stops them. Nobody stops them, and if they did, Robert probably would have punched them. Because this? This is for him.

He pushes Aaron through the front door, against the wall, and kisses him senseless. 

"God, c'mon," Aaron groans, fingers scrabbling between them to take Robert's shirt off. He pulls a few buttons off in the process, and Robert takes a split second to mourn the loss of his favourite shirt before Aaron's fingers are on his stomach. "Get it off."

He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and immediately twists his fingers in the hem of Aaron's, pulling it over his head. He looks- Christ, Robert's mouth waters at the sight.

But Aaron's arms are crossing his stomach uncomfortably, like he doesn't realise how gorgeous he is, like the things Robert wants to do to him aren't written all over his face.

Maybe it's not, so Robert takes it upon himself to lick wet trails down Aaron's chest. 

It works because his arms fall away, one hand clutching Robert's shoulder and the other tightening in his hair as the older man bites down on his nipple.

Robert hums alternatively, nose skimming Aaron's happy trail. "You have no idea," he sighs. His thumbs press bruises into Aaron's hips, his lips brushing the silvery scars on Aaron's stomach. "No idea how good you look."

He doesn't feel the need to pull down Aaron's trousers with his teeth - although he can do that, he learnt during an eventful summer holiday to Zante. He just feels like Aaron wouldn't appreciate the frills of it.

So he shimmies Aaron's boxers and jeans down his hips, placing soft kisses to his hips and thighs as he goes. 

"Robert," Aaron sighs, sounding awed as Robert licks a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. Then the older man glances up, their gazes meeting, and Aaron moans.

Robert bows forward and takes Aaron's cock in his mouth right until it hits his throat, and hums in contentment.

.

Robert stops in the doorway to his bedroom, appreciating the view. Aaron's still asleep, one arm tucked under his head and the other reaching across to where Robert was. He's kicked the duvet off, and his perfect arse is in Robert's line of view.

The skin is still faintly pink, from- well. _That_ , and Robert's cock makes a defiant effort to harden again, but his stomach rumbles and distracts him.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning across the bed and placing a soft kiss on Aaron's shoulder. The younger man opens his eyes and smiles, so wide and brilliant that it competes with the blinding sun slipping through the curtains. "Breakfast?"

Aaron eyes him appreciatively, and hums. "Sounds good," he says, fingers curling around the back of Robert's neck to pull him into a kiss. "I'll get dressed."

It's a shame, Robert thinks as he heads back through to the kitchen. He wants to look at Aaron's body, wants to map the contours of it beneath his fingertips. He wants that forever.

Something uncomfortable tugs in his chest, but he ignores it.

There's not exactly a risk of him falling in love, is there?

He turns back to the cooker with a fierce determination to ignore whatever the fuck is going on in his head. Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast. Aaron in his bed, under him, with a red mouth and bright eyes.

Works like a dream.

"Hiya," Aaron says behind him, hand slipping round Robert's waist. It feels too intimate for a one night stand, but it doesn't feel wrong. "What you cookin'?"

Robert sighs, rolling his head forward as Aaron marks a wet path across his shoulders. "Just a fry up," he manages to say, but it's getting harder to concentrate on the breakfast. "If you don't stop right now, there won't _be_ anything cooking."

"Who says that's not what I wanted, anyway?" Aaron laughs, even as he steps away. He sounds as sweet as he did last night, and Robert can't stop the grin that spreads across his face.

Robert plates up the food and turns around, taking the two steps to the dining table- and then stops. Aaron's sitting there, watching him, with bare feet and a bare chest, but he's wearing Robert's joggers.

_He's wearing my clothes._

The thought pulls in his chest even tighter, and in the back of his mind, he knows what it _should_ be, but he can't place it. Not anymore. It's too unfamiliar. 

They talk between bites of food, about their jobs and lives and everything else. Favourite films and music. Swapping anecdotes where relevant.

It's so easy.

"Well," Aaron says once his plate is cleared, stretching his arms above his head. He doesn't miss the way Robert's gaze dips a bit lower, or the blush that fights its way up his throat. "Suppose I should leave."

Robert bites on his lower lip so hard that it tastes faintly metallic, stands up and rounds the table. "No rush," he says, and his voice sounds gravelly even to his own ears. "Not like you have work, is it?"

He threads his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Aaron's head, tilting his face upwards and pressing a bruising kiss to his mouth.

Aaron returns it, just as biting, just as forceful, and the images of what comes next flood Robert's mind: back to bed, some more great sex, and maybe a nap.

Not a bad Sunday, all in all.

.

He doesn't hear from Aaron afterwards. He doesn't expect to, and it doesn't really matter - but the sex was _incredible_. He tries a one night stand a week or so after, but it just doesn't compare, so he doesn't bother again.

He doesn't need it, anyway. He's got the memories of his night (and morning) with Aaron: the way his mouth dropped open when he came, the way his fingernails dug into Robert's shoulders, the sounds of his tiny gasps.

It's more than enough.

He's quite fond of it all, actually. It's up there, top of his list of best casual sex encounters, and he wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, but he's not going to be the one to call first. He's never done that, and he won't start now.

In the end, he doesn't need to call. He bumps into Aaron - quite literally - in Bar West about five weeks later. 

His pint ends up down the front of his shirt, but Aaron just laughs and tells him he'll take care of it. Which he does, and Robert's pleased to find it's exactly the way he wished Aaron meant. 

Because Aaron takes him back to his, strips him in the kitchen (and throws Robert's shirt in the washing machine, because he insisted and he _won't_ have Aaron ruining another one of his shirts), and takes him to bed. It's another great night of sex and talking and more sex.

Afterwards, when Robert's coming down from the high of his orgasm and trying to hide the way his fingers are shaking, Aaron traces patterns onto his bare stomach.

He's not a post-sex cuddler, but with Aaron nestled into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, he feels like he _could_ be. He feels like he's found what's been missing.

"We could do this, you know," Aaron says, eyes focused on his fingertips. Robert thinks he can make out the loop of an 'r', the circle of a 'e'. "Fuck buddies, I mean."

Robert pretends to consider it, although his mind and body are both screaming yes. "Yeah, why not," he agrees. He flips them over and pins Aaron's wrists above his head, circling his hips lazily. "Not like it's bad sex, is it?" 

"Exactly," Aaron says, but his eyes are sparkling and he's smirking. 

It's not bad sex at all.

.

Somewhere along the line, friends with benefits turns into dating. It's not like Robert planned it - he doesn't date unless there's something in it for him, but this is different. It's organic.

It's Robert taking Aaron to his favourite restaurant because he knows he'll love the food, or Aaron bringing him to the pub to watch football with his mates.

It's Robert cooking tea and Aaron cooking breakfast, and kisses for the sake of kisses. It's early nights and late mornings, and Aaron's cries when he comes.

Nothing in it for Robert, but it doesn't feel like a bad investment. The company's nice, anyway.

Right now, Robert's forcing Aaron to watch Game Of Thrones. He keeps pointing out his favourite parts, and it's probably ruining Aaron's watching experience, but he's invested and he doesn't care.

They're cuddling, sort of - that's another thing that came with the dating territory. Aaron fits perfectly under Robert's arm, in the curve between his shoulder and neck, and it'd be rude not to take advantage of it.

"Hey," Aaron says, catching Robert's attention. The older man looks at him with a slight frown, but Aaron presses a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. "I love you."

Robert's entire world comes to a stop. The earth stops spinning and he forgets how to breathe, but Aaron's still looking at him expectantly.

"Right," Aaron says, mouth twisted down sharply. His eyes are shinier than normal, with tears, and Robert berates himself. "Cheers for that."

He untangles his body from Robert's grip and stands up, straightening his hoodie like he's still expecting something - _anything_ \- from Robert.

"You're fucking joking!" He explodes, when Robert stays silent and staring. "You can't think of anything to say? _Nothing _!? I wasted so much time on you!"__

That snaps Robert out of his trance, and he follows Aaron to the front door, ten seconds away from falling to his knees. 

"Aaron, wait!" He cries, trying to grab the younger man's hand, but he wrenches it free. He stops, stays facing the door, and Robert knows that he's desperate at this point. That he would take anything. "Let me explain!"

But not that.

Aaron finally turns. He's the personification of heartbreak: red, tear streaked cheeks, and a wobbling lower lip. It feels like the bottom has just fallen out of Robert's world.

"There's nothing to explain," Aaron says. He sounds calm now - resigned. "I'm done with this. I'm not letting you fuck me about."

And then he's gone, the slam of the door echoing behind him.

For some reason, there's tears making paths down Robert's face. 

How peculiar.

.

The first time he tries to call Aaron, it rings out to voicemail. The second time, he gets voicemail straight away.

The third, and the fourth, and the fifth, and all the other times after that, a female robotic voice tells him that this number has been blocked. 

It's like running face first into a brick wall, but being too stupid to stop.

He knows one thing: he needs to see Aaron, and he needs to explain. He wants to explain, because Aaron deserves better - he always has, but Robert was too selfish to do anything about it.

So he stakes out the garage. It takes three days, three days of Cain Dingle's unrelenting stares and threats, three days of Victoria's annoying questions, and on the second day - the day before Aaron turns up - Chas and Paddy turn up, staking out him staking out Aaron.

You honestly couldn't make this up.

It's Wednesday before he sees Aaron. He saunters up the drive like he hasn't got a care in the world, but there's bags under his eyes and his hair is unstyled. Robert knows him better than that.

"I've been waiting for you," Robert says gently, ducking through the small door and into the office. Aaron shuffles the paperwork on the desk like he's not interested, but Robert knows he's listening. "You blocked my number."

"Means I don't want to talk to you," Aaron fires back immediately. His voice sounds rough and small, so unlike him that Robert winces.

_You did this. You. Because you can't do anything right._

"I need to explain, Aaron. Please," Robert sighs. "I bought you a coffee. I just want to talk."

That makes Aaron look up, corners of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a sob or a smile. Robert can't work it out. "Alright," he grants after a silence, taking the cardboard cup from Robert's hand. He purposefully makes sure their fingers don't brush. "Floor's all yours."

"I don't even know where to start," Robert laughs, albeit miserably. He slides down the wall until he's sitting with his knees up against his chest, and watches Aaron do the same. "You've heard of that phrase, right? Selling your soul to the devil?"

"Of course I have," Aaron says with a frown, taking a hesitant sip of his coffee. He's finally making eye contact, and Robert counts that as a win. "It's not literal though, is it?"

"Well, actually," Robert says. He can't stop the way his mouth twitches up into a smirk, because it's ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous. "Turns out the devil has an office in Hotten."

Aaron scoffs. "And _what_? You sold your soul?" He spits. His eyes have gone hard, face even harder, but Robert's can't stop the relief that floods through his body. At least he's not sad. "You really expect me to believe that?" 

"I sold my soul four years ago," Robert says calmly. He needs to get it out: for Aaron to listen, or he never will. "In a dingy office in the back streets of Hotten, to a man called Carl King. I'm fairly sure he's Satan, but he's never actually confirmed it."

He lets Aaron take a minute to let it all sink in. Aaron, who's staring at him with wide eyes. "What did you sell it for?" He asks quietly, playing with a loose thread at the knee of his jeans.

"Business skills," Robert says with a sigh. Aaron laughs - actually bursts out laughing - but Robert just glares. "Don't- I know it's stupid."

"Not worth it then?" Aaron says, smirk still playing around his eyes. Robert wants to cry, because it _was_. It was going so well. 

"I can't fall in love with you," Robert says. He can't stop the sadness creeping into his voice, how pathetic it sounds. "I really, really like you, Aaron, but I can't fall in love with you."

Something like realisation dawns on Aaron's face, and then it morphs into devastation. Robert wishes he didn't feel the same. "And that's why you couldn't-?"

"Yeah," Robert breathes, letting his head drop into his arms. "I couldn't lie to you."

When he finally looks up, Aaron is closer, sitting next to him. Their knees are touching and the younger man's face is earnestly boyish, and Robert _wishes_.

"But you like me?" Aaron says. He sounds delighted, and his fingers find Robert's and hold tight. "And you want me."

"I really like you," Robert confirms. He grips Aaron's fingers like a lifeline, like if he lets go he'll lose it all again. "And I want you _so much_."

Aaron surges forward and kisses Robert, and something in the older man's chest loosens. It feels like coming home.

"Then we'll sort something out," Aaron whispers, resting their foreheads together. "I promise."

.

Aaron decides Google is the best option. Straight up searching 'how to get your soul back'. Like Yahoo Answers is going to give a definitive list of ways to go about it.

But still, it's better than anything Robert comes up with, so he does it.

Unsurprisingly, there's absolutely nothing helpful. Robert didn't expect there to be, but he just fucking hoped... There's no point in getting upset about it, now.

"You know," Aaron whispers. They've been looking for answers for days, and Robert is exhausted by it. He ends up curled around Aaron, head on his chest while the younger man cards his fingers through his hair. "You don't have to do this. Not for me."

Robert had considered it, but the tug in his chest aches with the thought of not loving Aaron.

"But I want to love you," Robert argues weakly, burying his face further into his boyfriends chest. "Because I know I could love you _so much_."

"That doesn't matter to me," Aaron says. He kisses Robert's forehead softly, sweeps his hair out of his eyes. Robert hasn't felt so loved in years. 

Robert sighs, and turns onto his back. He feels loved but lost. So, so lost.

"There is one thing you could try," Aaron says. His fingers inch across the bed until they're tangling with Robert's. "You could go back to the source."

"Are you telling me to go see Carl King?" Robert asks, laughing at the absurdity of it all. "You want me to just pop along and ask the devil to give me my soul back?" 

Aaron turns his head and looks at Robert, deeply serious. "Yes," he says. There's not a trace of amusement in his voice.

Robert stares up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. "Worth a try, I suppose," he agrees, and smiles when Aaron rolls on top of him.

.

The office is just as grotty as he remembers. This time, he doesn't expect flames licking up the walls, just Pearl and Carl, and that weird fucking machine.

He takes a deep breath, holds Aaron's hand, and walks in.

Pearl looks up at him over the top of her glasses, frowning like she maybe remembers him and then back to faux disinterested once again. "Do you have an appointment?" She asks, fingernails tapping against the keyboard of her computer.

"Do I need one?" Robert counters, and he can feel Aaron suppressing a laugh. He probably expected the same as Robert did, the first time round.

"Well," Pearl says with a frown, taptaptapping again. "We're not very booked up this afternoon, so you can go straight through to Mr. King's office. I'm sure he won't mind."

Robert doesn't even pause to knock, because he shouldn't have to - his _soul_ is in this building somewhere, so he practically lives here.

"Pearl, I've already told you I can't tell you the patient's infor-" Carl starts, turning half way through his sentence. He frowns, glancing down at Robert and Aaron's joined hands. "Oh. It's you."

"Robert Sugden, one and only," Robert says with a fake smile, standing up a little straighter. Carl is just as intimidating as he remembers.

"What do you want?" Carl sighs, turning back to his desk and organising the paperwork on there. "Can't exactly take your soul, can I? I've already got it."

Robert closes his eyes and counts to ten, focuses on Aaron's presence beside him. "That's it, actually," he says, sounding perfectly disinterested. "I want it back."

Carl laughs, loud and booming, filling the whole room, and Aaron flinches. "You did read the small print, didn't you?" He says, still chuckling. "We don't do refunds. We don't do exchanges, either, in case you were wondering."

"There has to be a way," Aaron says. He steps forward, and looks Carl right in the eye. That takes a lot of balls, and Robert admires him. "And you're going to find it."

"And why exactly am I going to do that?" Carl says, raising an eyebrow. He takes a step closer to Aaron, towering over him, but the younger man doesn't back down. "What's so special about _him_?"

Aaron's answer is simple. "I love him," he says, and Robert's breath catches at the back of his throat.

"You think he's gonna love you back!?" Carl says, laughing almost hysterically now. "People like him don't love even _with_ a soul! And he's certainly not going to love scum like you!"

Before anyone can even blink, Robert has Carl pinned against the wall by the collar of his shirt. He doesn't remember moving, doesn't remember even _thinking_ about it.

"If you ever," Robert says. His voice is low and dangerous, and the smirk has finally disappeared from Carl's face. "Ever, talk about him like that again, I will fucking end you."

Carl chuckles, but it's not as confident as before, and holds his hands in front of him. "Alright," he sighs. "I can try, but I can't guarantee anything. And there are risks."

"What are the risks?" Aaron asks, as Robert releases Satan himself from his grip. Carl looks at him for a second, like he forget he was there and then baffled as to why Robert was so protective.

"Like I said, it might not work at all," Carl explains, straightening his shirt. "But if it does, there's a high risk he'll forget you, and you'll forget him. Poof - out of his life, just like that. Is it really worth risking all those months just for _love_?"

Robert opens his mouth to answer, because it's obvious to him: of course it isn't. But Aaron's hesistant touch on his arm stops him, and he glances at his boyfriend.

"Luckily for you, I'm due a tea break," Carl says, not bothered about the moment he just interrupted. He picks up his mug - one that says **sexy devil!** on the side - and pauses in the doorway. "So you've got five minutes to decide."

And then he's gone, an air of arrogance the only sign he was in the room in the first place.

"You need to do it," Aaron says gently, squeezing Robert's arm. He steps closer into the older man's space, and meets his gaze head on. "Even if you forget me, you could love somebody else. You deserve that."

"But I don't want to love anybody else," Robert counters immediately, cupping his hands around Aaron's face. If this is the last time... He doesn't even want to entertain the thought. "I can't do this without you."

"You won't know any different, Robert," Aaron says. He sounds strangely calm. Robert doesn't understand - his insides are raging like a storm, head and heart in a war.

"But I will," Robert persists. He takes Aaron's hand and presses it to his chest, right where his heart sits. "Because I'll feel it in here. I'll know something is missing."

Aaron stops and looks to the side. There's tears in his eyes and he's worrying his lower lip between his teeth, but when he turns back to Robert, he looks defiant. "If you won't do it for yourself, then you need to do it for me," he says, like it's final.

Like he knows that Robert would do anything, if he just asked.

"Fine, I'll do it," Robert sighs. He pulls Aaron into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple and then to his hair. "But if anything goes wrong-" 

"I know," Aaron whispers, his tears dampening a patch on Robert's shirt. That's three ruined, Robert thinks to himself with a grin.

"No, you don't," he says, pulling away and holding Aaron at arm's length so he can look at him properly. "If anything goes wrong, I'll come and find you. I don't know when or how, but I will."

Aaron's crying again, a fresh wave of tears tattooing red marks on his cheeks. "Alright," he says, shooting a teary smile at Robert. "I really like you."

"I really like you too," Robert laughs, dizzy with relief. He pulls Aaron in for a kiss and then even closer, like he's trying to climb into Aaron's skin and stay there. 

This might be the last time.

"Right, now that you two lovebirds have had time," Carl says, walking back into the room and clapping his hands together. "Or, _not_. I need a decision. I haven't got any bookings for the rest of the day, so I want to go home."

Robert rolls his eyes, barely refraining from punching Carl in the face. "I'll do it," he says, feeling Aaron's fingers brush the small of his back supportively.

"You know the drill, on the chair," Carl says, clicking buttons on that weird machine. It powers to life, innocently blinking at Robert, but he knows it's anything but. "Sooner we get this over with, sooner I can go home."

"I don't have to sign anything?" Robert asks, as he slips his shirt open and sits against the chair. 

"There's not exactly protocol for giving someone their soul back," Carl says with a sigh. He sticks the pads to Robert's chest, thumbs pressing even harder than the first time, and grins maniacally. "Here goes nothing, kid." 

Robert has a split second to glance at Aaron, at his terrified face: wide, teary eyes and parted mouth, hands curled into fists. 

_I'll miss you_ , he thinks. _I'll miss you so much_.

The numbers start flying across the machine, but they're going backwards now. Or at least, Robert thinks they are - it's just a white white blur, edges of his vision turning white until it all does and then

it all.

goes.

**black.**

He's still aware, can still breathe and hear and feel the leather chair under his fingertips, except he can't because there's a crushing weight on his chest, and it's too much he needs to stop it needs to stop _now_.

And he's thrown back into reality, hand covering the back of his mouth before he's sick, gasping for air. He looks around the room. 

It's no different, just a grotty office, with a desk in one corner and the machine right next to him, and Carl King grinning at him. But when he looks further, into the corner of the room - every corner - there's no Aaron. 

"Where is he?" Robert asks, desperation clinging to his voice and body and mind. "Where's Aaron? What happened?"

"Well you got your soul back," Carl says, checking some things off on a clipboard. "But it seems as though the risks far outweighed that, doesn't it? He's gone."

Robert fights of a wave of nausea, and then another, until he's almost doubled over and breathing raggedly. "What do you mean he's _gone_?" Robert whispers, then stills, because realisation sets in. "You said if it didn't work, I'd forget him. Why do I remember him?"

"Alright, you got me!" Carl says, cackling. He wipes tears away from the corner of his eyes, like it's the funniest thing he's seen for years. "You should've seen the look on your face!" 

Robert opens his mouth to reply, because how fucking dare he? Satan or not, he had no right, but he's thrown back into reality once again. This time, he's not gasping. His eyes focus on Aaron straight away.

Aaron, who has a hold of Carl's throat, pinning him against the wall. He's shouting through his tears, "what have you done to him!?"

But Carl just smirks at Robert, and Aaron turns his head. "Robert?" He breathes, dropping Carl like a discarded tissue and rushing towards the chair. "Robert, it worked."

"I know, baby, I know," Robert chokes out through his tears, fingertips brushing over every part of Aaron's face. He doesn't want to forget this, forget how it feels:

He loves Aaron. He loves him. It's that simple.

"Let's go home," Aaron whispers, helping Robert up off the chair and buttoning his shirt up. Home, Robert thinks. He finally feels like he's got one. "I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

"Alright," Robert agrees, pressing his flat palm over his chest. He can feel his heart beating faster than normal, and feels it double when he looks at Aaron.

So this is what being in love feels like. Not bad, really.

(Scratch that. It's the greatest thing Robert's ever felt).

Carl's leaning against the door frame, like he doesn't care what happens either way. He looks them over with a critical eye. "I'm assuming you won't be back again, then," he says. "Unless you cheat on him or something."

Robert stops, and looks at him. The smug, arrogant little prick. He darts forward and punches Carl before he's even got a chance to move, and when he comes back up, his face is covered with streaks of blood.

Turns out the devil is just a man. Robert doesn't know why he's surprised.

He leaves the office without saying anything, and wants to do the same in the reception, but Pearl stops him.

"Ooh," she says, looking up from her computer at him with a false sense of concern. "What happened in there? I heard lots of shouting."

"Pearl, no offence," Robert sighs, tangling his fingers with Aaron's. Why are they even still here? "But please just fuck off."

He only has a minute to take in Pearl's outraged face, because he does what he should've done the very second he walked into this place: he turns and leaves.

It doesn't feel any different, having a soul again. Well, aside from the obvious. But the buildings are still grey and the sky is still clouded white, and it's raining and it's cold.

But then there's Aaron. Aaron, who turns and looks at him with a grin - an excited one. "I love you," he says quietly, slipping his arms around Robert's waist.

Robert laughs and curls his arms around Aaron's shoulders protectively, burying a kiss into his curls. "I love you too," he says, and feels the honest truth of it right down to his toes.

Right to his soul.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [aarobron](http://aarobron.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
